


Borg vs McEnroe

by uppu



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uppu/pseuds/uppu
Summary: Continuing her unbeaten run the past year, Marianne Borg is aiming to win her record fifth Wimbledon Championship.An uprising young gun, Heloise McEnroe is obstinate to win her first. Losing is NOT an option.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS! YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS !!" Heloise spat harshly on the grass-court beneath her feet.

A pin-drop silence filled the court even though the stands were filled with spectators. A full sell-out mind you.

Heloise McEnroe had gotten into one of her famous fits, her temper like the firestorm conflagrating without a single drop of mercy.

Heloise walked brisk, angry steps towards the chair umpire, yelling "ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?? It was out! It was FUCKING OUT, dammit!" Her arms flailed erratically above her head. "Even a blind person could have seen that !"

If Heloise weren't so engrossed in her own temper, she would have noticed the horrified faces of spectators around her, some tutting through teeth, some covering their mouths using their hands, but _every_ single one stunned by the unsportsmanlike behaviour exhibited by the young rising curly blonde haired star.

The chair umpire rolled her eyes, not even bothering to offer an apologetic smile. "That's my final decision. I suggest you get to the next point."

Heloise glared at the umpires, first the line and then the chair. Anyone in her line of sight would have trembled at the sight of Heloise, hair sticking out from her ends, capable incinerating any being who'd have crossed her path. But not the umpire, who kept her cool and held her resolve.

Ms McEnroe was in no way wrong at being furious about the decision made by the umpires. The ball was indeed out. Out by a hairline which only Heloise noticed. Unfortunately, the position of the line umpire had resulted in a parallax error, the outcome of which was a wrong call. And any sort of wrong calls got under Heloise's skin. This time was no different. Especially since it was the championship point in the deciding set of the Queen's Club Championships. Heloise just had to score a point more and the title would have been in her name. But because of the terrible decision of the line umpire, the score had levelled to a deuce. Now, Heloise had to quickly find a way to put aside the setback and reset her determination to the match.

Heloise vigorously shook her head, refusing to believe the turn of events. All her efforts had gone down the drain. Her current circumstances meant that she had to score two quick points in succession in order to win the match.

Not another word was said as Heloise walked to the service line, furiously bouncing the fluorescent yellow ball using the tip of her fingers.

Not a soul would have wanted to be in her place. Heloise had already squandered two match points. One had hit the net and the other was lost due to the brilliant forehand down the line winner by the opponent. But Heloise didn't have the time to fret. Heloise's entire existence had erupted in flames, but her flames were capable of biting anyone who got too close.

Heloise got in position to serve. It was as unorthodox as it could get. Her body facing away from the court, the ends of her toes almost parallel to the baseline, feet far offset from the baseline centre mark than it conventionally should be. It could elicit a giggle out of anyone watching her for the first time. But it'll all those cheeky giggles would be muted once they watched her serve.

Heloise bounced the ball. Once. Twice. Thrice. Eyes glimpsing at the opponent's movements. The bend in her knees as she pushed her butt out for extra power in her jump. Her forearm behaving like a compass reaching the highest point as she propelled _the_ perfect toss which escaped the tip of her fingers. The slight tilt of her chin as she watched the ball reach its peak, stopping for a split second. The concentration in her eyes as she watched the angularly roatated ball complete its path of freefall, waiting for the perfect height to jump to the highest she could and complete her powerful follow-through. The cracking tensile sound of the strings that hit the ball as her body arched forwards to give it the extra push, her unwavering focus on the ball as it went over the net and fell on the edge of the service box.

The opponent stretched full, almost flying in the air, in an attempt to return the ball. It was rendered fruitless, as her racquet was nowhere close to the ball. The ball whizzed past the line umpire and hit the board behind with a thump.

Heloise had managed to overcome her setback, thundering with a blistering _ace!_

"Advantage McEnroe" the umpire announced.

If it were any other player, the crowd would have erupted in loud applause. What a magnificent comeback this was! But they didn't. Instead, there was a deafening silence. You see, no one liked Heloise McEnroe, the controversial hot-headed sensation. No one cheered for her. No one supported the mad ill-mannered freak.

Her coach, the only pillar in her life, had missed her match today. She had caught fever the previous afternoon and was following her progress from the comfort of her bed. One would think Heloise would look at the family box for moral support but those happened to be the only empty seats on a full-sold out court.

It didn't matter to Heloise. Or that's what she told herself. She'd always been alone. And she had come to terms with the fact that she _always_ would be.

She signalled the ball boy to pass the ball to her. Heloise took her position to serve on the other side of the baseline centre mark. Bounced thrice. Toss the ball as perfect as it could get, ready to smack it to the other end of the court.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Heloise heard a couple of folks behind her foul mouth and make noises to distract her. _Uncouth freaking pricks_. Did they piss off Heloise? Yes, very much. Was she going to do something about it? Absolutely FUCKING yes.

"Excuse me? Do we have a problem?!!"

All the cameras pointed at her in anticipation of the unfolding moment.

She barked again, "I asked, DO WE HAVE A PROBLEM?"

Drop-dead silence. Hatred spewed on everyone's face. The press was absolutely going to have a field day with this confrontation.

"That's what I thought." she scoffed.

Heloise walked back to her service line refusing to waste another moment of her precious time.

* * *

Marianne Borg who was intently watching the match on TV turned up the volume.

_"Ms McEnroe seems extremely flustered after her verbal spat with one of the spectators. But the match has to go on and McEnroe has now taken up position ready to serve._

_The moment is tense and if you listen carefully you'll realise how silent the court is. McEnroe is ready to serve and tosses the ball. Attacks right at Connor's body. McEnroe's swift on her toes and is already at the net, her signature move. Connors returns it using a forehand looking for a down the line winner. McEnroe has foreseen it and returns a beautiful backhand crosscourt drop volley. Connors sprints and stretches to reach, oh what a massive slide on the grass! And a lob return. It's not going to carry. This is it! McEnroe finishes off the game in style with a stunning smash the ball carrying to the crowd! Folks, that's your new Queen's Club Champion!! McEnroe pumps her fist in the air, clearly pleased with the outcome._

_Oh boy has it has been an incredible match."_

_"McEnroe made that cross-court volley look so easy. It was flawless. I certainly thought Connors was going to score the point but McEnroe managed to connect it. What a magnificent tenacity showcased by the young McEnroe."_

_"This just showcases the arsenal that McEnroe is bringing in for Wimbledon which will be starting exactly a week from now. I believe it's going to be a fantastic tournament and she's someone, Ms Borg, the defending champion will have to watch out for."_

_A four-time champion, Marianne Borg, looking to lift her fifth. With this win, I must confess McEnroe has cemented her spot as a strong contender to win next Wimbledon Champion._

_"With that in mind, I would like to ask the viewers, **who do you think will be crowned as the next Wimbledon champion?** Let us know on..." _

Marianne switched off the TV set and flung the remote on the bed. A thousand different thoughts swirled her anxious mind.

"You don't have to worry about her," Billie Thatcher, Marianne's coach, said.

"I'm not." she blatantly lied. In reality, Marianne felt she'd been caught in a thunderstorm. Marianne had watched the whole game, every millisecond of it. Everyone, EVERYONE in the entire world's prime focus would be on Heloise's on-court outbursts. But only a true tennis fanatic could see the fire and raw passion that oozed out of McEnroe for tennis.

Marianne removed the coat from the hanger and wore it.

"Where are you going?" Billie asked.

"Outside," Marianne mumbled.

"You have an early practice tomorrow."

"I'll be back soon. Don't stay up for me."

"Don't be late. Also," Billie cautioned, "Don't venture anywhere near the post-match conference."

"I won't" Marianne answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am off my blasted mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Marianne sometimes marvelled at how well Billie knew her. A subtle change in body language, slight modulation in her voice; Billie knew her like the back of her hand. It wasn't all too surprising since Marianne was sheltered and nurtured under her wings since the tender age of fourteen. Billie, who was then on the board of selectors for the national team, had scouted her from the U-19 Nationals, where Marianne happened to be the youngest participant. Her age hardly deterred her from eventually winning the tournament.

 _"You have something special, Marianne,"_ Billie's eyes twinkled as she held the young Marianne's shoulders. _"It's something I have never seen before. It's not just talent, determination and hard work. You have confidence and grit. You're relentless. You know you're going to win. You have to win regardless of the consequences. It's both scary and exciting._

_Let me be your coach. Put your trust in me. I will make you the next champion of the world."_

Billie was one of the top coaches in her country, then and now. Marianne didn't even have to think before seizing the opportunity with both hands and since then Billie was her mentor and trusted confidant. Keeping true to her oath, Billie sky-rocketed Marianne's tennis career. Within months she rose in the ranking, defeating women bigger and stronger along the way to be rated the number one in her country; and now number one in the world.

 _"It doesn't matter if they're bigger or stronger than you,"_ Billie said. _"They're all fickle-minded. Break their serve and watch their resolve turn into dust._

_To win one requires willpower. To not lose your heart and head during clutch moments. Believe in yourself. Take it game by game. **Point by point.** "_

And that's what Heloise McEnroe did today. Persisted. Put behind her setback and got her head in the game. A quality of a veracious fighter.

Marianne had expected Heloise to lose focus after the temper outburst. Instead, she did the exact opposite. She was calm and composed and in control. Truth to be told it astonished and terrified Marianne. Her forehead was spotted with sweat. Not because of the humidity outside. But because of what awaited her. McEnroe was unpredictable. And Marianne liked to thoroughly know her toughest opponents like the words of one's favourite book. Know them page by page, line by line. And to become well-versed, one has to spend a time; reading, analysing, deducting and lastly applying her learnings to defeat her opponent.

Marianne could have studied a hundred games on her projector to analyse Heloise's playing style. But none of them would be enough to show who Heloise was during her toughest moments. What made her tick? What was her Achilles heel? To unearth the minute details, Marianne had to get closer.

At first, she had absolutely no intention to attend the press conference. But for now, it seemed like the only way to observe Heloise up close.

So here was Marianne, hidden in the corners of the press conference, merged in the crowd disguised in a cheap sports cap and a spectacle that she'd bought in one of the street shops.

The press conference was turning a bloodbath. McEnroe was being massacred by the ruthless life squeezing journalists.

"Congratulations on your victory. What do you think about your behaviour today?" a reporter enquired.

"Next question" Heloise brushed the reporter away.

"Do you think it was right?" he pressed.

Heloise piqued, "Does anyone want to talk about tennis?"

Another reporter asked, "Did you think your confrontation with the crowd was in good stead?"

"You should ask them. If you had used your eyes to watch the match you would have clearly seen that they tried to disrupt my game."

"Your game today was an exhibition of horrible sportsmanship. Do you think the gimmick helped you to win the match today?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"You know..."

"Shut up! You just shut up! " Heloise stood up from her chair, gripping the table by her hands to applying self-control to not pounce on the reporter. "Have you ever played tennis?!" she said exasperatedly. "You shallow wusses do not know what it takes to play the game, what it takes to win. I give everything on the court. EVERYTHING."

Marianne stepped out from the corners and into the sea of journalists. She needed to know how far McEnroe was prepared to give be a champion. What was she ready to sacrifice? Her image? Respect? Love?

Marianne threw her voice so that it reached the end of the room."Tennis is a supposed gentleman's game. It is played out of admiration and respect for the game, for the opponents, the spectators. Do you think your actions embody the spirit of tennis?"

Heloise had her full attention. All the cameras were tapered on Heloise. Heloise's pupils flickered dangerously. Angry red colour rose to her cheeks.

Marianne toppled her hat and took off her glasses to reveal herself. Heloise's pupils dilated upon recognition. Her lips quivered upwards in pure disgust. She heaved a long deep breath before storming off the press conference, not bothering to answer any other questions.

* * *

The sun had set and the sky was crimson. Marianne had taken more time than she should have to return to the hotel. An inevitable scolding was awaiting from her coach.

Marianne stepped in the gap between the revolving doors. Two blokes got in right behind her. Marianne was crammed in addition to feeling irritable and claustrophobic.

"Sorry ma'am" one offered sympathetically.

Marianne turned and creaked a polite smile.

The other man's eyes widened in shock. "Hey! I know you!" he said excitedly. Marianne noticed the man had a camera strapped around his neck. A photographer. Shit.

True to his profession, her pounced like a hyena and proceeded to shamelessly invade her privacy and take pictures of her without her permission.

Marianne shrugged, extremely uncomfortable due to the blinding flashlight from the huge lamp atop of the camera.

"Did you watch Heloise McEnroe's match today? How do you feel about Wimbledon? Does Heloise McEnroe frighten you?" his burst clicking matched his velocity of enquiries. "How are your preparations? Do you think you have prepared adequately?"

In these moments, Marianne wished she had had actually listened to her Billie and stayed inside. "Miss Borg. Miss Borg...."

Marianne was a woman of few words. Her game had done enough talking throughout the years. With a couple of Grand Slams under her belt, titles that could not be counted on her fingertips even if run thrice over, she had no obligations to answer whatsoever. Her manager was capable enough to answer these question.

She immediately began searching for the nearest exit. The first route she spotted was an entry to a banquet hall. Marianne knew there would be an ample amount of security who could offer her protection. In addition, the hall would contain back exits and sometimes even service elevators which she could use to get to her room. She deduced this was an excellent chance to make him lose her tail. So, she bolted for the hall. And like a dutiful employee, the jerk of a reporter chased her. But all those years of training had taught her to outrun pesky reporters like him. And these reporters, with their hanging tummies filled with their high-carb doughnuts and coke and fatty-cheesy pizza, could never match her pace.

Marianne sprinted, skipping the long queue waiting for an entry to the hall. Marianne didn't have the time to wonder what the queue was for. Her only motive was to get to the entrance.

The security guard started, "I'm sorry ma'am but you'll have to stand in line...",

Marianne flashed her players' pass hurriedly; a direct entry to any part of the hotel that she was currently residing in. The guard let her in straight away. Fortunately, the reporter was stopped by the security. He didn't look too pleased while arguing with the guard who remained unbudged.

Marianne heaved a sigh of relief. Now she could peacefully work on finding a way back to her room. She stopped a waiter and asked if he could show the way to the service elevator. He assisted her by telling her to find one in the kitchen which happened to be on the other end of the hall.

The hall was enormous and people attending seemed to occupy every inch of it. Marianne was soon engulfed in the swarm of people. As she sifted through people, she realised it was an invitation-only party. The men were clothed in expensive well-tailored suits, women in glittery satin dresses, each with a glass of finest champagne or wine, engaged in agreeable conversations, was the reason her assumption.

Everything was organised, efficient, posh and businesslike. Just like official parties were supposed to be, till a person from the centre of the crowd diverted attention towards them, "I, Heloise McEnroe, want to thank everyone gathered here to celebrate my Queen's Club Championship win today. It's my first major win on a grass court and will always hold a special place in my heart. Please enjoy the night."

The woman, dressed in a green suit, was congratulated with a chorus of claps and an amicable pats on the back. She accepted it shyly with a pleasant smile on her face quite contrary to the angry countenance a few hours prior.

"So what are we waiting for?" Heloise said gaily, "Let the party BEGIN!"

And on cue, the soothing white light was switched off and replaced by neon coloured disco lights. Loud music played simultaneously. The neo-swing beats were extremely catchy and soon everyone was grooving to the music.

It was hard enough already to navigate to the kitchen without disturbance. The moving crowd became an additional headache.

Marianne recommenced on sifting through the crowd engrossed in the dance, slowly gaining ground towards the kitchen. Out of nowhere, someone collided into her. Marianne felt herself lose balance. Her heart skipped a beat. She was half floating in the air. A pair of strong hands held her by the shoulder and turned Marianne. Marianne and the unknown person rolled hard on the floor with Marianne hitting the ground hard on her arm. The rest of her body was saved as she was cushioned by the person who had caught her.

Marianne immediately stretched her arms to check for any signs of injuries, catches or pulls. There were none for which she was thankful.

Marianne turned her attention to the person under her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine" a pair of perplexed blue eyes, illuminated by the purple light, met her concerned green-ones. Marianne's eyes when she recognised it was Heloise McEnroe who was underneath her. _Out of all the darn people in the hall, why did it have to be Heloise?!_ Marianne's felt an uncomfortable ache all over her body.

"I'm sorry..." Heloise stopped midway, realising that her greatest rival and arch-nemesis was atop her.

Heloise blinked in disbelief. Marianne grasped the narrow window to disappear into the shadows, choosing not to be seen. After countless years of dodging sneaky prying folks, Marianne had mastered the art of invisibility.

The slightly unstable Heloise quickly got up on her feet and resumed her hunt for Marianne. Marianne's heart thumped on her chest as observed Heloise like a wolf. Stealthily with keen observation. Heloise's eyes darted to every area of the hall but Marianne was nowhere to be found. 

Despite Heloise's frantic efforts, she was ghost. Her struggle was proving to be futile. Marianne couldn't help but silently chuckle. It was of those games which were still pleasurable after all these years.

Marianne decided she had had enough of McEnroe for the day. She soon located the kitchen, her escape. She had just placed her hand on the door handle when a hand gripped her shoulder and forcibly turned her around.

Marianne started angrily, "What the...?!" until the pair of familiar blue eyes choked her breath.

"What are you doing here?" Heloise asked crassly.

"Just passing by," Marianne answered.

Heloise looked at Marianne like she had a hidden agenda. She didn't trust Marianne at all. "Whatever trick you have up your sleeve, it's not going to work on me,"

"I promise you, I don't," Marianne reassured. She had an intuition about where this was headed. She decided it was best to leave Heloise's company and avoid the onsetting scuffle. Heloise was reputed for off-court encounters and Marianne wasn't eager on being one of the victims.

She was about to leave when Heloise said with conviction, "I'm going to win Wimbledon."

"I wish you the best then," she said in a mellow neutral tone trying not to vex Heloise.

She scoffed, "You don't think I'm going to."

"Does it matter what I think?" Marianne stepped afront Heloise, tips of their nose almost brushing, fuming hot breaths on each other. "Now that you've asked me," she challenged in a mocking tone, "Is your _everything_ enough to win Wimbledon?"

Manuscripts of anger were engraved on Heloise's face. She spat, "To answer your questions, this and the previous one in the press conference; you don't know what's at stake for me. What I am willing to sacrifice to win. I am going to WIN."

Heloise wasn't messing around. It was an honest answer to her questions. Marianne felt herself shiver but spoke calmly, "Then try your hardest. Because it's the only thing under your control," She refused to entertain Heloise anymore. She headed through the kitchens in search of the service elevator, leaving behind an infuriated Heloise.

* * *

Marianne's words chimed in Heloise's mind. _Because it's the only thing under your control._ Marianne spoke the truth. For now, that was the only thing under Heloise's control. Maybe the only thing that will ever be. And the worst part was it could all be snatched away from her if she didn't win Wimbledon.

Marianne's voice wasn't the only one haunting her head; _There's practically no chance for you to win,_ her mother said. _None. You should stop playing. Instead, you should abide by the arrangements that I've made for your future..._

"STOP" Heloise screamed, crouching on the floor knees folded, covering her ears with her palms. Runny tears dripped down her cheeks. The cruel words pierced her like a knife to a heart. Even after winning the Queen's Club Championship, she had no assurance of playing other majors. Her career was hanging on the thinnest of threads. The only thing powering her through was her raw will power and adamant determination.

Heloise wiped off her tears. She was going to see this through. She was going to shut up her mother and everyone who didn't believe in her; for once and for all.


End file.
